


Something Good Can Work

by cherishiskisa



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, LES AMIS AT AN AMUSEMENT PARK, M/M, Multi, THEY EAT COTTON CANDY AND GO ON ROLLER COASTERS, and mont is creepy, but that's to be expected, this is my ot3 and nobody shall stop me, what more could you want, yes i was too lazy to type all of them out sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiskisa/pseuds/cherishiskisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Montparnasse has no idea why he’s there.<br/>Éponine invited him, although he doesn’t understand why she did. He’s met her college friends all of four times, probably, and some of them quoted poetry at him, and some of them told him about fatal illnesses, and some of them made references to Greek mythology. Most of them just looked really scared, to be honest, and probably not without good reason. He’s run into some of them on the street on occasion, where they exchanged polite smiles and moved on.<br/>So he really doesn’t know why she’d want him to come along to an amusement park, of all places, with her college friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Good Can Work

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rare little ship but I love it more than anything.  
> Also, this features Les Amis at an amusement park.  
> Thanks to my buddy Nika for all the ideas and collabs etc etc~~  
> I live at grabtaire.tumblr.com and I love feedback in any and all shapes forms and sizes so please let me know what you thought!!  
> Title taken from the Two Door Cinema Club song.

Montparnasse has no idea why he’s there.

Éponine invited him, although he doesn’t understand why she did. He’s met her college friends all of four times, probably, and some of them quoted poetry at him, and some of them told him about fatal illnesses, and some of them made references to Greek mythology. Most of them just looked really scared, to be honest, and probably not without good reason. He’s run into some of them on the street on occasion, where they exchanged polite smiles and moved on.

So he really doesn’t know why she’d want him to come along to an amusement park, of all places, with her college friends.

He’s not even sure if he can remember all of their names, save Bahorel, whom he works with. He’s drunk with Grantaire before, so him he remembers. Enjolras is the fiery blond who made all the loud speeches every time Montparnasse saw the group all together. He’s with Grantaire, but word on the street says they’re miserable. 

The boy in the floral jeans, rolled up past his ankles, is Jehan, the poet. His boyfriend is Courfeyrac, who is loud and silly—but they’re both loud and silly. The amount of love emanating off of them is sickening, but endearing. They look a little younger than everyone else in the group, but they certainly smile the widest, and what they lack in age, they make up for with good looks and long legs.

Montparnasse blinks and turns his attention elsewhere.

Éponine and Combeferre, her boyfriend, a student of philosophy, always pushing his glasses up his nose—they’ve always been very polite to Montparnasse when they’re together, but when it’s just Éponine, she relaxes and acts like her old self.

And there’s another couple there, too. Marius and Cosette. Montparnasse has never talked to them, because they’re so in love that it’s boring.

A guy he’s never even seen before is there, too. His name is Feuilly, apparently, and he looks really overworked. Bahorel’s got his arm around his shoulders and is telling him something about the hall of flags.

The last three make Montparnasse pause as he looks at them. Joly is the medical student who told him all about how they were all going to die of some disease by next year. Bossuet, the bald one, has a Band-Aid across his forehead, because he’s the unluckiest person anyone has ever met. Musichetta is, by any definition, a babe, although she doesn’t quite belong to the official friend-group. They’re all holding hands, and Montparnasse remembers that they’re all together. He’s always been intrigued by polyamory, and they’re a fine example of how well it can go.

But really, _all_ of them are all together. It’s such a tightly knit group of friends that Montparnasse feels more unwanted than he ever has in his entire life, no matter how often they all joke with him or invite him along on rides.

Which only adds to Montparnasse wondering why he’s there. Why he even consented to come along.

He supposes he can try to have fun, although that’s been kind of alien to him for a while. If anything, he can rig up some of the arcade games just for the hell of it.

So he doesn’t protest as a tide of overly enthusiastic college students pushes him along into the amusement park. 

***

It’s hot. Almost unbearably so.

Everyone starts losing their top layer, save for Marius and Cosette, who drape each other in clothing for fear of sunburn (or, in Marius’ case, freckling more than would appear humanly possible). Bahorel grins as Feuilly blushes at the sight of all his muscles, Grantaire and Enjolras bicker quietly about something or other as they usually do, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta discuss heatstroke and skin cancer, Combeferre offers to carry Éponine’s jacket, and Courfeyrac and Jehan are laughing a lot as they undress each other.

Montparnasse watches them. 

They’re so at ease with each other, those two. More so than the other couples. He watches as Courfeyrac runs easy hands through Jehan’s hair before kissing him, and he watches as Jehan’s small fingers tangle easily with Courfeyrac’s as they continue on walking.

Something tugs at the inside of his chest, and he wonders.

It isn’t that he longs for a relationship like theirs. It’s clear he’ll never get one, that he’ll never be loved like that. He understands and he knows and he accepts this.

He doesn’t want to find someone that he fits as well with as Jehan does with Courfeyrac.

It’s like… instead of creating a relationship _like_ theirs, he wants to be a part of one that already exists.

Their dynamic is so wonderful, and they’re so genuinely in love, and it looks like they’re always interesting—not like Marius and Cosette, who are so in love that they can barely even talk to each other.

Montparnasse wants to know how that feels. 

But he doesn’t just want to be loved. He doesn’t do love.

He wants to know how Courfeyrac and Jehan feel, and to be a part of it.

He looks away from them before he can go along that train of thought. He barely knows them, for Chrissakes.

There is a light touch at his elbow, and he looks to see who it is.

It’s the medical student, Joly, and he looks terrified. “Um,” he says delicately. “If you don’t take that leather jacket off, the chances of you getting heat stroke—”

Montparnasse rolls his eyes as Musichetta drags her boyfriend away. He then shrugs out of his jacket, not even having noticed just how hot it had gotten.

Underneath, he’s wearing the same shirt he’d worn to work. It’s white, and a little loose in some places and a little tight in others. It’s relatively clean, as far as his shirts go, and he doesn’t care about it getting torn or anything. It’s just a shirt.

He hears a wolf-whistle and looks around—unsurprisingly, it’s Courfeyrac. He’s smirking, and Jehan is clinging to his hand and blushing and trying not to look, too. But Courfeyrac boldly meets Montparnasse’s eyes, sends him a wink, and then turns away again to kiss the top of his boyfriend’s head.

Montparnasse slings his jacket over his shoulder and doesn’t think much of it. Or, rather, he tries not to.

***

They all go to get their faces painted. Bahorel jokes that he and Montparnasse should get matching designs, a big slash through along their faces, and Montparnasse turns his head and shows him the scar running along his cheekbone, past his ear and into his hair.

Bahorel stops laughing after that and there’s a bit of an awkward silence, which is broken by Jehan chirping that he’d like to be a butterfly.

Courfeyrac volunteers to be a tiger, and Enjolras shrugs and says he’ll have the French flag, please and thank you.

Grantaire gets a martini, Feuilly requests the Polish flag—the poor bewildered face-paint artist has no idea what it looks like, and Feuilly grumbles at her—and Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta all get matching ones of the sun. Éponine gets flowers—which makes Jehan jealous—and Combeferre even consents to getting kitty whiskers painted on him.

The lady turns to Montparnasse. “And for you?”

He sends her a smile, baring faintly pointed teeth. “I’ll pass. Thanks.”

Something about him makes her shiver and her smile falters. “Okay, then. So that’ll be—”

“No, Montparnasse, you _have_ to get something,” Jehan interrupts, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the stand. “Like… I don’t know. Something.”

Montparnasse raises an eyebrow at him, ignoring the small hand on his arm. “I’d rather not.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Jehan says breezily and turns to the lady. “He’ll have a snake, please. Around his eye and his cheek.”

“Will I really, now,” Montparnasse asks dryly and Jehan nods.

“Yes, you will. Now sit and let her paint you.” Jehan searches through his pockets until he finds a string of tickets. “I’ll even pay.”

“What generosity,” Montparnasse sighs and grudgingly sits. The lady is visibly uncomfortable with painting and being so close to him, but regains a professional demeanor, and after a few minutes, Montparnasse has a small green-black snake twined around his face.

“You look lovely,” Jehan declares, a slight flush in his cheeks. “Very… ferocious.”

Montparnasse just snorts and mutters an insincere thanks to the face-painting lady. Jehan hands her the correct amount of tickets and then everyone is off again, loudly debating what ride to go on next.

Éponine and Combeferre go on the teacups, where Éponine has a wonderful time and Combeferre’s spectacles are constantly in a state of slipping off and Montparnasse feels dizzy just looking at them. Enjolras and Grantaire can’t make up their minds about where they want to go, so two separate groups form. Grantaire’s heads to the arcade—Montparnasse, uninvited, joins them—and Enjolras’ group goes to ride one of the big roller coasters again.

But when they get to the arcades, they all separate. Courfeyrac and Jehan playfully compete for stuffed animals, Bahorel gallantly wins a wistful Feuilly some massive, ridiculous polyester toy thing, Grantaire seems to be on a mission to win every prize he possibly can, and Montparnasse watches.

When he joins in, he uses every trick he knows to win.

It's not playing dirty. He just knows the infirmities of all the machines, and he knows how to exploit them to win.

He's just won his third round of some mindless game or other when there is a voice from behind him. "How is it even possible to cheat at arcade games?" Courfeyrac demands, and Jehan, standing behind him, arms wrapped around a toy puppy, looks at Montparnasse with wide eyes.

Montparnasse flashes them a grin. "I'm not cheating."

"You are," Courfeyrac huffs. "No one is _that_ good. The whole point of these games is to lose so the park gets more money. You're jackin' up the system, man."

Montparnasse shrugs. "Too bad for the system."

Courfeyrac sends him an approving smile that has a tinge of something else in it, and then Jehan leads him away so they can play another round of ring-toss.

Montparnasse watches them walk, admiring their figures-- there's nothing wrong with that, he's always done that for people he finds attractive-- and then proceeds to beat a group of elementary school children at a shooting game.

They try not to look at him when they mumble "good game" and run away, and he can see they're scared of him.

He's used to that.

There's a small laugh from in front of him, and he looks up to find Jehan, who is holding a couple pairs of plastic neon sunglasses.

"What?" Montparnasse bristles, but Jehan, oddly enough, isn't intimidated.

"It's not nice to scare small children," he scolds. "Let them have their fun."

Montparnasse sends him his trademark grin. "Who said I was nice? I can't help scaring them."

Jehan clucks in disapproval and moves in, gesturing for Montparnasse to duck his head so he'll be closer to Jehan's height. Montparnasse raises an eyebrow but before he can say anything, Jehan is slipping a neon-orange pair of sunglasses up his nose. "There," he says, beaming, and pulls back. "Much less scary."

Montparnasse rolls his eyes but doesn't take them off, for some reason. Maybe because Jehan is so... sweet that it's almost infectious. Maybe because he's too lazy. The point still stands that the glasses remain on.

Courfeyrac ambles up and grins at him. He must see the flush in Montparnasse's cheeks, must feel his reluctance to take off the glasses Jehan put on. "Got a little crush on my boyfriend, huh, Mont?" he asks amiably, and Montparnasse freezes.

But the words aren't antagonistic, or jealous, or accusatory. If anything, they're curious, inviting.

Montparnasse doesn't answer because he doesn't know.

"That's a good look for you," Courfeyrac adds, snatching the other pair-- pink-- from Jehan's hands and putting them on himself. He strikes a playful pose. "What do you think, babe?"

"Very handsome," Jehan murmurs and leans up, almost on his tiptoes, to kiss his boyfriend. Montparnasse has to look away, not knowing what'll happen to him if he allows himself to pay even closer attention to them.

But he keeps the glasses on.

Bahorel becomes the first person in Six Flags history to stay on the mechanical bull for the whole time that it goes, and the first person that year to hit the block with the hammer and get it all the way to the top on his first try. He even gets his picture taken for the local Six Flags hall of fame.

Jehan and Courfeyrac buy a few different kinds of cotton candy and share them with everyone, but they're the ones that end up most endearingly sugar-stained around their permanently smiling mouths.

Eventually, the groups find each other again. Grantaire and Enjolras corner each other and murmur quiet apologies, hands moving to run through hair and drag along stubbled jaws. Montparnasse's eyes catch on them, too. He wonders idly what's so wrong in their relationship, why they can't just stay happy. He knows this round of apologies won't last. He watches them make up, but once they start making out, he loses interest and looks away.

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta go off in search of a photo booth, Feuilly drags Bahorel to the hall of flags, Enjolras and Grantaire take a time-out so they can kiss each other breathless, Marius and Cosette and Éponine and Combeferre go to find some actual food, and Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Montparnasse end up the only ones left there.

"Let's go on that one-- look, it has loops!" Courfeyrac suggests, pointing.

"And muss up my hair?" Jehan sniffs. "No, thanks."

Courfeyrac winks at Montparnasse. "Your hair is already mussed."

Jehan frowns. "No, it isn't."

"It is now!" Courfeyrac says gleefully and reaches to card both hands wildly through Jehan's hair. Jehan shrieks and tries, in vain, to bat him away, and after a few seconds of this, gives up and sinks into a hug with his boyfriend, gasping with laughter.

Montparnasse's lips tug up into a smile. He doubts they'll make it to the coaster at this rate.

But, surprisingly enough, they do. Montparnasse often feels like he's babysitting children as they walk, because Courfeyrac's attention span is almost nonexistent and Jehan keeps blushing and giggling whenever _anyone says anything_. It's up to Montparnasse to keep them on track, and they sober up when he frowns at them, but they don't seem to be terrified of him like the rest of their friends are.

He sees the way their eyes slide along his body and stick there.

But he doesn't comment on it.

They make it to the ride and get in line. It's a quick wait, though, and they're strapped into the rickety metal cars pretty soon after that.

Jehan is already squealing, even before they go over the first hill, and as they rocket through the first loop, Montparnasse can feel Jehan holding his hand.

When they get off, Jehan's legs are all wobbly and his hair is even more mussed than before. Courfeyrac and Montparnasse can't help but laugh at him, in response to which he huffs, crosses his arms, and stalks off. Courfeyrac, still laughing, chases after him, and Montparnasse watches him apologise, watches the tenderness between them as they lightly kiss.

That same something tugs inside his chest.

He names the feeling: longing.

Jehan and Courfeyrac buy some sort of slurpy-ice drink for themselves, pink for Jehan and blue for Courfeyrac, and they offer to either share with Montparnasse or buy him his own, but he declines as politely as he can.

He doesn't know why.

It makes Jehan's tongue pink, and that, in turn, makes Montparnasse's mouth go dry.

Everyone re-convenes. It's been a long day. Everyone's nicely sun-kissed and sugar-high. Arms are easily slung around shoulders as they pile into Grantaire's car and Joly's car and drive over to Bahorel's place.

There, they drink sodas until they can't take it anymore. Jehan is still giggly, and even Montparnasse loosens up a little, joking with Bahorel and Grantaire and Courfeyrac. All the sugar burns through their veins, and it's the most fun all of them have had for years.

Then they crash.

Literally, pretty much. There aren't enough beds, so they all sleep on the floor. A massive cuddle-pile of bones and muscles and long hair.

It doesn't take long to fall asleep. Montparnasse decides he'll allow himself a nap, too, and drifts off soon after everyone else.

***

He wakes up curled into Jehan's side. Courfeyrac is nestled around his boyfriend from the other direction, and he's awake, and he meets Montparnasse's eyes.

Montparnasse instantly starts shifting back, mistaking the look in Courfeyrac's eyes for hostility. He thinks he's misinterpreted all of the silliness today, and that Courfeyrac really doesn't want Montparnasse anywhere near Jehan.

"I've had enough of this," Courfeyrac says and stands up. Sleepy eyes start blinking open around them, and Montparnasse frowns, not wanting attention. "I mean it." He tugs at Jehan's sleeve, and reaches down to snag Montparnasse's collar. "Get up. We're having a threesome. Come on."

Montparnasse's heart stops.

Groans of disgust come from those who have just awoken, and Montparnasse's eyes flare wide as he stares at Courfeyrac. Jehan makes a sleepy sound and allows himself to get pulled to his feet. "How about it, then?" he murmurs, and then two hands are being extended out to Montparnasse, one small with a couple of painted fingernails, one long and tan.

And he understands.

He realises that Courfeyrac has _always_ found Montparnasse attractive. He realises that Jehan has _always_ loved the way Montparnasse looks at him, like he's something to be eaten right up and kept very protected from anyone else.

The longing in his chest burns into lust, and he takes their hands and allows himself to be helped up.

"Bye," Courfeyrac says cheerfully and, ignoring the disgruntled mumbles of 'please keep your sex lives private' coming from everyone, drags them out of the living room into one of Bahorel's three bedrooms, the one with the biggest bed. He slams and locks the door behind them, and electricity is running through Montparnasse's veins, because he's just now realised how long he's been waiting for this.

But he's lost. He doesn't know where they go from here. He's had threesomes before, sure, but he gets the sense that this one might mean something more than mutual desire.

He just stands there, before Courfeyrac grins and pushes Jehan forward lightly, toward him.

And Jehan leaps, hands twining tightly around Montparnasse's neck, legs curling around his waist, and Montparnasse barely has enough time to raise his hands to support Jehan in that position before he's being kissed so hard that he can barely remember his own name.

He'd expected Jehan to be sweet and tender like he appears to be with Courfeyrac. He'd expected soft touches and light kisses.

What he gets is an armful of little wildcat, because apparently all the sexual tension that has been building up for what now seems like forever can do some pretty transformative things. Jehan bites at his lips and licks into his mouth, and Montparnasse's knees go weak and he has to fall back into the bed to keep from dropping him. Jehan breathes out his name and Montparnasse thinks he's never heard anything quite so beautiful.

And then Jehan pulls away, leaving Montparnasse gasping, one hand keeping him close and the other reaching out to fist in Courfeyrac's shirt and pull him into a kiss that's equally savage.

He's in way over his head. This is too good, too dangerously good.

It’s too hot, too, and deft hands are working at buttons and zippers and floral jeans lie crumpled on the floor and Courfeyrac’s plaid shirt is long, long gone.

Turns out Jehan can use that little pink tongue for some positively _filthy_ things, and Courfeyrac is so flexible that it doesn’t even make sense, and Montparnasse thinks he’ll die of pleasure at least four times during the whole act. 

Yeah, he’s had threesomes before, but _never_ like this.

They lie together, after, and Montparnasse is still a little dazed, and can’t believe his luck, and Jehan is curled around him and practically _purring_ , and Courfeyrac has his hands in Montparnasse’s hair and the afterglow is like nothing Montparnasse has ever experienced.

There’s tenderness, then, and Jehan and Courfeyrac smile at each other over the top of Montparnasse’s head.

“That was fun,” Jehan whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the flesh of Montparnasse’s shoulder. Montparnasse freezes, because he normally doesn’t like kissing, it’s too intimate, too romantic, and he certainly doesn’t like kisses out of nowhere, kisses to places that aren’t his mouth or his dick—but he likes this. He wants to kiss and be kissed by Jehan and Courfeyrac, everywhere, anywhere, any time, _always_.

“Yeah,” he manages, and Courfeyrac laughs quietly at his eloquence.

“We should do this again sometime,” Courfeyrac yawns, stretching slightly. “Or a lot of times. Like, right now. Anybody up for round two?”

Jehan grumbles and nuzzles into Montparnasse’s shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I might be,” Montparnasse offers jokingly, and then teeth sink into his skin as reprimand. He lets out a startled huff of air, and then Jehan releases him. 

“No. We’re going to relax for a few minutes and then we’re going to clean up and go back, because I’m getting hungry and I’m sure the others are, too,” Jehan says firmly. 

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Courfeyrac teases and Jehan hisses at him.

Montparnasse’s eyes slip closed and he basks in it. He is, just for a few minutes, part of Jehan and Courfeyrac’s love-filled world. 

He’s gotten a taste of it, now, and he knows that he wants more.

He doesn’t exactly know how to ask, though.

They take a very brief nap—well, Courfeyrac and Jehan do—and then they find some towels and clean up a little and then reluctantly put on their clothes again and make their way back out to the living room.

As they walk down the hall, Montparnasse is between them, and, almost in unison, Jehan and Courfeyrac reach to hold his hands. 

Montparnasse, internally, squirms and battles with himself.

He _hates_ holding hands.

Or, at least, he thinks he does. He’s never really been in a relationship where hand-holding is even an option. But, theoretically speaking, he hates what hand-holding stands for. How clingy it is, how it represents never wanting to be separated from someone. He doesn’t do love, he doesn’t do relationships, and hand-holding is so connected to that that he hates it.

But when Jehan and Courfeyrac hold his hands…

He feels safe. Oddly enough. He feels like they’re protecting him and holding onto him, but not in a “clingy” “relationship” way.

He loves it.

They make it back to the living room, grinning wide. Everyone else is pretty much awake, and they get a few curious looks.

“So,” Courfeyrac begins, drawling, “you’ll never guess--”

“We don’t care,” comes the answer in almost perfect union. 

“I mean, it’s not like we tell you graphic details about our sex lives,” Joly supplies mildly from the corner where he’s curled up with Bossuet and Musichetta.

“I’m not ashamed to, though,” Courfeyrac says proudly, and Jehan rolls his eyes.

“We know, but maybe we don’t want to hear,” Enjolras huffs. “No offense.”

Courfeyrac pouts, and Jehan just laughs at him. Montparnasse’s lips tug into a small smile as Jehan squeezes his hand.

The whole group laughs about it for a while, and then it’s old news, and then they all eat and go to their respective houses. Montparnasse goes home alone, after bidding an amiable farewell to Courfeyrac and Jehan. 

And after that, it becomes a regular thing.

They’d exchanged numbers on that day, and Montparnasse is often interrupted from work with sunshiny texts from Jehan and general exuberance in the form of bizarre emojis from Courfeyrac. They schedule other times to meet, and they all gather at Jehan and Courfeyrac’s apartment and fuck on every surface where there is enough space.

Eventually, it stops being fucking and turns into sex, and then, it starts heading into the dangerous realm of “making love”, but Montparnasse can’t bring himself to stop.

He even shows up to Les Amis meetings every now and then—if he comes early enough, Jehan will sit on his lap—to pick them up and take them somewhere before they fall back into bed together. He’s allowed to kiss them whenever he likes.

He wonders if they’re all together, like Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta. 

He doesn’t know how to ask.

But they hold his hands and they let him sleep over and kiss him good night and he decides that he’ll let them pick the pace, as long as he gets to be with them like this, at the very least. 

He decides he doesn’t need to wonder, because even if it’s not official, he’s with them, and he is, for the first time in _years_ , happy.


End file.
